


Next to You

by DaniJayNel



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, Grief, Mikahisu, Oneshot, past yumikuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 09:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15946163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniJayNel/pseuds/DaniJayNel
Summary: Mikasa knows that she will never replace Ymir in Historia's heart, but that doesn't mean that she won't rip herself apart to be there for Historia, as Historia herself falls to pieces after losing the love of her life. And if new love grows from that, then so be it.





	Next to You

**Author's Note:**

> The most peculiar thing happened. I was listening to the Ally Hills cover of Talia - King Princess, and I saw the new screenshots of Historia and Mikasa in what I assume is the latest episode (I'm not watching S3 yet) and I just, got inspired. So here is an angsty Mikahisu fic no one asked for.

Mikasa paused mid-knock, fingers clenched tightly, trembling. She hated the solid stone in her gut, twisting and churning and making her feel heavy and sinking. Her chest ached and her heart burned. She inhaled deeply, released the breath, then knocked. As expected she got no answer, so instead of knocking again—doing so at all was just a formality anyway—she grabbed the spare key hidden away and unlocked the door herself.

“Historia?”

No response. That, too, was expected. Despite having done this many, many times in the past two months, she still felt weird just walking into Historia’s apartment without knocking or calling for her. Historia certainly didn’t care, but Mikasa did. Her morals still stood.

Steeling her nerves, Mikasa set the key down on the dining table and headed into the kitchen. It hadn’t been touched since the last time she’d been there. She opened the fridge, cleared out the rotten food and restocked with the fresh groceries she had gone to buy. She started making dinner, then when she was ready, she left the food cooking and headed to Historia’s room.

There, lying motionless at the foot of the bed, was Historia. As always, Mikasa’s heart gave a painful thud at the sight of her tiny form. She was completely submerged in the duvet, so Mikasa couldn’t see the state of her yet. She didn’t want to disturb her, but she had to.

“Historia, you need to get up.”

“No,” came the soft, emotionless reply. The fact that she replied at all made Mikasa’s pulse jump, so she went through with tugging the blanket away and revealing Historia curled in the foetal position. Her hair was tangled and greasy, and her eyes were pink and puffy from too much crying, and sunken in and dark from no sleep at all. Mikasa frowned.

“When did you sleep?”

“Two months ago,” Historia replied deadpan. She reluctantly sat up and stared down at the floor.

Mikasa folded the blanket and set it down on the bed. “You need to shower and clean up,” she told her softly. “Please.”

Historia continued to stare emotionlessly at the floor. “Why?”

Mikasa put her hands on her hips. “Because you haven’t showered in days and I can tell. You look awful, Historia. You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

Historia slowly lifted her gaze. Her once joyful, beautiful eyes were bottomless pits now—dark and swirling and empty. The sight of her pain made Mikasa’s chest tighten. “No, I mean why?” She gestured between them. “Why are you doing this?”

Suddenly Mikasa wished she hadn’t set the blanket aside so quickly. With nothing else to fidget with, she wrung her hands together to hide the shaking. Her heart was pounding way too hard. Despite the inner panic, outwardly she showed no reaction. She was a stone temple. She showed nothing and gave nothing unless she wanted to. But under Historia’s passionless gaze, she felt the beginnings of a crack that would grow into a gaping wound.

“I care about you,” Mikasa answered simply. “Does it need to be more than that?”

Something flashed in Historia’s eyes. The most emotion she had shown since two months ago. Seemingly satisfied, or probably resigned, Historia stood and headed to her bathroom. Mikasa immediately selected fresh clothes for her, because she noted Historia hadn’t even taken the time to, and set them on the bed. While Historia showered, she hurried back to the kitchen to finish the food. By the time Mikasa was done eating and washing all the newly dirty dishes, Historia padded into the room. The slap of her bare feet felt like gunshots in Mikasa’s ears.

“You made food,” Historia said, not surprised, but not pleased either.

“Eat, please.”

The scrape of a chair, the rustle of clothing as she sat, and then Historia took in two forkfuls before shoving the plate away and refusing anything more. Mikasa wanted to argue, but this was the same dance they had danced for weeks now. Instead, she packed the leftovers away and shoved them in the fridge. Historia stared at the table as Mikasa washed the last of the dishes. When she was done, she turned and caught Historia staring at her. Historia opened her mouth slowly.

“Ymir died two months ago today.”

Mikasa’s heart stuttered, pain filling every inch of her chest cavity. She was cold and numb at the same time. Historia didn’t have much emotion as she said it, and perhaps that’s what hurt the most. She said it like an everyday fact. Like mentioning the weather.

Mikasa swallowed and stayed silent, staring. What could she say? What on earth could she give back in words to something like that? Historia looked away, down to her lap. Slowly, achingly, tears dripped onto the table. Her emotionless façade was quickly fading.

Mikasa knew that she cried every day. Every single time she came over, Historia was swollen and dry from crying. She looked awful, but she always tried to play it off as if she wasn’t a wreck. As if it was all self-imposed, decided.

None of this was fair. It was only two months ago, and yet it left such a massive canyon between them, in their lives. Ymir’s absence was like losing the ability to see colour or taste anything at all. Things had become so dull and painful since. Their friend group barely got together, because when they did, they only felt the loss of her, the missing friend.

Mikasa hated to see the horrible downward spiral Historia was travelling. She loved her, damnit. She’d loved Ymir, but the way she loved Historia was so consuming that it fucking broke her. And nothing hurt more than having to watch the girl she loved break and fall to pieces over a girl that _she_ loved. Mikasa wanted to take her pain away but she wasn’t sure how, so she came over and cleaned and cooked, and made Historia clean up. It wasn’t much. It wouldn’t really do anything.

Ymir was gone. Dead. _Fuck_.

“I drink so much,” Historia mumbled. Her voice was thick and slurred, like she was struggling to get the words over her lips. “Because sometimes I think that, if I’m just drunk enough, I’ll see her walk through that door and greet me with that grin of hers and tell me about her shitty day.” The tears fell harder.

Mikasa gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles going bone white. She couldn’t speak even if she had wanted to. Her throat was swollen shut with emotion.

“I hear her sometimes, too,” Historia continued. “I turn in bed, and for a moment I feel her warmth, her solidness beside me, and I swear I hear her whisper my name. And then I open my eyes, and I’m alone and she’s gone and I…” She trailed off, followed then by an aching, deep sob.

Mikasa’s response was knee-jerk. She rushed forward and pulled Historia from the chair, into her arms. She wrapped her arms securely around her and made sure their bodies were fully pressed together. Historia immediately buried her face against Mikasa’s throat, and then she began to weep.

It was painful, standing there and letting Historia cry in her arms. Mikasa had always offered the service to those that needed it. ‘If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, mine is right here’. But it was entirely different when someone actually needed it. Historia was so small and destroyed, and her sobbing echoed in Mikasa’s ears like nails. It hurt so much that she wanted to run away and shut her eyes and never see or hear again. But she couldn’t, because Historia was hurting worse than any of them, and Mikasa loved her so much she could barely breathe.

So fuck it, she would stand there until her legs cramped. She would stand there until her shirt was completely soaked through, until her teeth shattered and Historia had nothing left to cry. It took a while, but finally the sobbing died down. When Historia slumped suddenly, Mikasa picked her up and realized she’d fallen asleep. Upright. Or maybe she had passed out.

Lips quivering, Mikasa carried Historia through the apartment to the bed and set her down. She was going to leave her, change her shirt, clean up and then leave. But Historia’s pained expression gave her pause. Instead, Mikasa slipped into bed with her. It was dark, but the light from the hallway bathed them in a soft orange. Mikasa studied the wet streaks across Historia’s face. Her hair was clean after the shower, and soft. She smelt like shampoo and soap, and it made Mikasa warm even while she still felt cold from within. Everything hurt so much.

With pain in her heart like no other, Mikasa fell asleep. She wasn’t sure how long she slept for, but when she woke it was light. Sunlight filtered in through the curtains. It was slightly warm, and sweat made Mikasa’s shirt cling to her back. She noted that her entire right side felt hot and sticky, and when she cracked her eyes open, she realized why. Historia was draped over her, leg over her hips, an arm over her chest. She was sleeping soundly, breathing in and out through her nose. Her hair was slightly tangled, but only naturally from a night of sleep, and not from a week of neglect.

Mikasa’s heart thumped. Historia was warm and soft against her. Even though she needed to move to get circulation in her limbs again, she wouldn’t dare wake Historia up. So she stayed there and alternated between staring at the ceiling and Historia.

She wasn’t even sure when she’d fallen in love with Historia, but it must have been a long time ago. She probably hadn’t ever confronted it, because everyone knew that Ymir was the only one Historia would ever end up with. It was only after Ymir was gone that Mikasa realized her feelings, and so many things had made sense for her. It was awful, and she felt so guilty all the damn time. But her solace was that Historia needed her. No one else was willing to do this for her. They all felt too awkward, too pained.

Mikasa chose to face Historia’s pain directly, no matter how many times it punctured her heart and made her bleed. It was getting easier, but it would never be easy. She was willing to live with that, though. Anything to help Historia out of this dark place. Mikasa didn’t want to lose her too.

She knew the moment Historia woke up. Her even breathing stopped, stuttered, and then she exhaled a breath like a realization, and her body tensed up. She made to curl in on herself, but must have realized that she was not alone. Her head snapped up, eyes wide and hopeful, but disappointment rushed in, and Mikasa realized why. Guilt sliced her heart wide.

“Mikasa.” _You’re not Ymir,_ she meant.

Mikasa tried to smile. Historia made to get up, but Mikasa pulled her back down. “It’s okay, lay in. I’m comfortable.” It was a lie.

“But I must be heavy.”

“You’re tiny, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?”

Mikasa contemplated for a moment. Her heart thudded heart. “I think it will help a little,” she said, flushing a little, “Intimacy with someone.”

Historia studied her face, then she dropped back down and snuggled in. Mikasa was honestly surprised that she accepted it so quickly, but she wasn’t going to argue with it. Though her side was really starting to ache from Historia’s weight.

They remained like that for a while, breathing softly, hearts beating. They didn’t say a word, and yet all Mikasa could hear was the silence of Ymir not being there.

They could both feel it, the missing spot. The absence. It made them hurt, but Mikasa merely held Historia tighter, and to her surprise, Historia held her back.

XxX

Something shifted between them after that. Each time Mikasa came to visit, she found Historia seeming a little more alive, until she was no longer a walking corpse or an empty doll. She started to smile again, to participate. She still wasn’t ready to leave her apartment, the one she had shared with Ymir, but she was starting to show interest in life again.

Mikasa still cooked for them, and Historia ate. They cleaned up together and watched movies or anime, or played games. Months flew by, and they both made progress in dealing with their grief. Sometimes something would trigger a sobbing episode for either of them, but they were always there to hold, to comfort and console. Mikasa stopped returning to her own apartment, the one she shared with Armin and Eren. She hadn’t even realized it until they pointed it out.

“So are you like, moving in now?” Eren had asked her, green eyes bright and serious. He was usually loud and boisterous, but he had grown a lot more sombre in the past months.

Mikasa paused. She was packing more clothes to take to Historia’s. She glanced at her cupboard, realized it was already half empty. The rest were already by Historia’s, hanging in her cupboard. The guest bedroom’s cupboard, though. Ymir’s clothes were still up.

“It’s just easier,” Mikasa told him. “She needs me.”

Eren exhaled. He didn’t seem pleased. “You spend all your time with her, Mika. We hardly see you anymore.”

Mikasa shoved the last of her clothes in and zipped her bag shut. Anger flared in her. “So? It’s not my problem that no one else was bothered to support her.”

He flushed. “That’s not… I…” He looked away, guilty. He knew she was right. He hadn’t known what to do, so the easiest thing was to do nothing.

“She lost the love of her life,” Mikasa told him, almost snarling. “Her entire world disappeared. She needs someone there to remind her that she can still carry on.”

She tried to brush past him, but Eren grabbed her shoulder and she stopped. “Mikasa, I’m just trying to say that I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“He means that we know how you feel about her,” Armin interjected from the hallway. His hair was long, tied up in a messy bun. Mikasa blinked at him, not remembering when last she had seen his hair so long. His brow lifted at her expression. “You’re in love with her,” he added.

Eren’s quiet meant that he knew it, too. Mikasa felt herself flush, but refused to let them see her rattled. She pulled away from Eren’s grip.

“I’m not doing this so that I can replace Ymir,” she told them softly. “I never will. No one will. I don’t even know if Historia will ever love someone again.” She knew this, of course she did. Were they really so worried that she would go into this with wild expectations? Her friend was dying inside, and the last thing she had on her mind was seducing her.

“Just be careful,” Eren told her, face grave. “Please.”

Mikasa sighed. They were trying to help her, because they cared. Because they loved her. She didn’t need to be so defensive. Maybe they were right, too. Grudgingly she nodded and decided to take their words to heart. “I will.”

“How is she?” Armin asked her.

Mikasa managed to smile. “Better,” she answered. “She won’t ever be okay again, but she’s better.”

XxX

When they kissed for the first time, Mikasa hadn’t been expecting it at all. They were sitting together on the couch, cuddling under Historia’s huge blanket and laughing at a dumb movie they were watching. One moment Mikasa was smiling, looking at Historia’s laughing face, and then they were kissing.

Historia had moved in first, and Mikasa was the one to pull away. They were breathing hard, faces bright and red. Historia’s eyes were wide and surprised.

“Mikasa… I…” She seemed terrified then, suddenly. Like Mikasa was about to walk right out of her life.

Mikasa refused to get her hopes up. “It’s okay,” she soothed, voice calm and gentle. “I understand. I’m the closest thing you have.”

Historia furrowed her brows. “No, I… You aren’t…” She looked away, biting her lip. Mikasa could see that she was struggling greatly for words, so she pulled Historia into her lap and wrapped her up in her arms.

“I’m here for you,” Mikasa told her simply. “And if you need to rebound on me, you can. I’ll deal with it.”

“Mikasa, that’s fucked up. You can’t offer something like that.”

She pretended to stare intently at the TV. “I mean it.”

“I…” Historia fell silent, and didn’t speak again. Mikasa could almost hear her thoughts. Deep down, her chest ached. But her tummy was warm and her brain was screaming at her heart not to get hopeful. She had meant it, though.

After that, things shifted again. At first, Historia avoided her. It hurt worse than anything, but Mikasa gave her space, stayed away, asked when Historia wanted her to leave or be absent, until Historia begged her to stay, to be there and not leave. They fell into their routine again, and Mikasa felt like things were getting back on track. So much time had passed, and yet it had only been a year.

A year wasn’t much, but they were coming back. Historia almost resembled the person she had once been. Mikasa only wanted to see her healed and happy and moving forward, and for the most part, she was. But there were those small moments when she would grow sad and solemn, or would cry, and it was so obvious why. In those moments Mikasa left her, because it was reserved only for Historia’s heartbreak and Ymir’s ghost.

Mikasa knew that Historia was ready to try to move on when she decided to clear out Ymir’s things. It had taken her a year to do it. Mikasa brought boxes home, and together they packed everything up. Some things Ymir’s mothers were taking, and others they were donating to a local shelter. Historia was completely silent as they did it, and when they were done they went to the beach and Mikasa bought them ice-cream. Despite it being sunny and warm, Historia was down. Understandably.

Mikasa handed her cone over and took Historia’s hand, and then she tugged her towards the beach and led them on a slow walk. Historia eventually ate her ice-cream.

“I feel a little empty,” she finally admitted. They were still holding hands.

“That’s understandable.”

“I feel like she’s actually gone, you know? She occupied so much of my life, and now the last pieces of her are gone. I feel like I’ve just lost everything of her.”

Mikasa squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“That’s all I need,” Historia said quickly. She stopped walking and faced her, blue eyes shimmering with tears. “That’s all you’ve been since everything happened. Here, by my side and with me. I wouldn’t be here today without you, Mikasa.”

Her heart shuddered. Historia was so achingly beautiful. The wind rustled her newly cut hair. Her eyes reflected the ocean behind them, but Mikasa thought that Historia’s eyes _were_ the ocean, and she fully understood why Ymir had fallen so wholeheartedly for Historia the way she had, and she pained with the knowledge that Ymir would never get to be with her again.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Historia told her.

Mikasa blinked. “Like what?”

Historia reached up and wiped a tear off Mikasa’s cheek. She hadn’t even realized that she was crying. It was shameful, to be the one crying, when Historia was probably hurting worse.

“Like I’m crushing your heart,” Historia responded softly, meaningfully.

Of course. Mikasa bit into her lip. Historia was intelligent. She had a sharp gift for picking up on people’s thoughts and emotions, and mostly their intentions. Of course she knew, or had known all along. The way Historia was staring at her, it made her feel naked. She was uncomfortable, but she didn’t shy away from it. Instead she squared her shoulders and held her head high, and Historia watched her.

“You can do whatever you want with my heart,” Mikasa blurted out just above a whisper.

Historia lifted a brow. She still looked sad, but she had colour in her cheeks, life in her eyes. Her palm was warm and her fingers tightened around Mikasa’s. “Well, then,” Historia said, slowly starting to smile. The sight to of it made Mikasa breathless. “I guess I’ll have to look after it well, then.”

Mikasa swallowed. “You will?”

“Only since you’ve taken mine and patched it up so well.”

Was this what she thought it was? An odd twinkle filled Historia’s eyes. She could be so direct sometimes, but other times she could be entirely too cryptic. Mikasa caught on, but she didn’t want to hope. Did she hope? Did she believe it? Oh, damnit.

Mikasa bent down and kissed her, there on the beach, atop the burning sand and beneath the warm sun. When Historia kissed her back, it felt right this time. It didn’t feel like a fill in, like a façade.

It felt like a new beginning.

 


End file.
